


Super Scary Mega Monster Movie Night

by Star_less



Series: the 'snips, snails, puppy-dog tails' verse [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bedwetting, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Clint Barton as a Dad, Clint puts his daddy skills to good use, Comfort, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Desperation, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, IronDad & SpideySon, Irondad, Long, Long Shot, Not Canon Compliant, Parent Clint Barton, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Joins the Avengers, Peter is a Little Shit, Post-Avengers (2012), Scared Peter Parker, Scary Movies, Sleepiness, Slice of Life, Sulking, Superfamily (Marvel), Team as Family, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Wetting, bottles, grumpy Peter, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: In an attempt to combat a rather ugly night-time problem that rears its head during one of Peter's first few nights at the Avengers tower, Peter stays awake all night long. This has disastrous consequences for him (and the rest of the team) the following morning. A further revelation leads Peter into having a spectacular strop; in a feeble attempt to comfort him (lest they get their asses kicked by Tony 'IronDad' Stark) Clint and Bruce decide to have a movie night. A nice, non-threatening, no-drama movie night.Right?...Right?





	Super Scary Mega Monster Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was sliced out from the large fic I was writing, hence the references. Again, it's a chapter I'm very proud of. I should have proofread properly before submitting, but I've proofread this thing so many times already and I'm sooooo tired. I'm sure it's okay. 
> 
> Read tags. This story contains omorashi. The infantilism tag is there not necessarily because this story focuses on it (It doesn't!) but because I tend to write my Peter as a weeeee bit younger than he is in canon. 
> 
> Post Avengers, HoCo is kinda stitched onto it. We don't know what infinity war, endgame, civil war etc are in THIS house ladies! xxx it is 2012 and everything is innocent and sweet xxx
> 
> Enjoy. Or click back, if it's not your thing!

The digital clock on his bedside table was silent, its red display glowing softly in the darkness of Peter’s bedroom. 

23:15.

He had done well to last as long as he had - bedtime was usually a whole hour ago. Perhaps that was early especially for a kid his age, but that was what had been secretly decided by Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers, and that was what he was happy to stick to. After a few nights of snuggling down at ten his body had gotten used to it and he could feel himself slipping off a couple of times, eyelids weighted, body begging to rest. The quiet hubbub of the Avengers moving around through their bedtime routines on level sixteen and above worked subconsciously too - seeming to make him sleepier and sleepier. Now… now seemed like a good time.

Cracking open the can of Monster Energy that Clint had given him earlier on, Peter watched the bubbles fizz away to nothing on the lip of the can before taking a deep sip. It was blueberry - electric blueberry, according to the neon blue logo printed diagonally across the can. Peter didn’t even know blueberries could be electric - or what an electric blueberry even tasted like. He had a mouthful of bubbles that slid coldly down his throat and left a pleasingly sweet and sour tingle in the back of his throat. Mmm. It was nice - a little too tangy for him - but nice enough to guzzle down, as was Peter’s plan.  
(He had squirrelled a full six pack of cans up to his bedroom when Clint wasn’t looking.)  
The first can disappeared rapidly, leaving him belching noisy bubbles of electric blueberry all over his bedroom in the Tower. The second can disappeared a little slower than that, for Peter was bloated and his belly was full. By the time he’d attempted his third can, he felt as though the sleepiness had drained from his body - or that he had energy to spare. His legs seemed to take on a life of their own, suddenly restless in his duvet, and he found himself kicking animatedly. Shortly afterwards, his arms joined in until he was jiggling like a hyperactive puppy on steroids. Giving in, he stood full and started to bounce energetically on his bed, arms and legs spread, bed squeaking. 

With Tony and Steve still working hard at their mission, the only people in the Tower were Clint and Peter, and Clint had retired to bed at 10pm. Dead to the world, he could do little to stop Peter from bouncing as he was. JARVIS was watching over the Tower, and seeing Peter acting as though he was in a trampoline park set off the in-built ‘Past Curfew’ protocol that Stark had installed upon Peter’s arrival. “Young Sir,’ JARVIS addressed the energetic child, “I rather think it is past your bedtime. Mr. Stark would like you to be sleeping by ten thirty.”

“Can’t sleep, JARVIS!” Peter replied loudly, bouncing still. JARVIS was quiet for a short while as he processed this through his system. “When Sir can’t sleep, he has a warm beverage,” the A.I. explained. Peter, full of soda, declined that and continued to bounce. He bounced and whooped, whooped and bounced until - sick of that - he jumped up and started ‘doing zoomies’ around the room, puffing quietly to himself. The sugar crash took a while, but when it happened, it slammed into him like a ton of bricks.  
At first, it was just him slowing down to a little jog.  
Then the jogging slowed to a shuffle.  
The shuffle slowed to side stepping  
The side stepping. . . 

slowed. . . 

to 

nothing. . . 

Peter stopped dead in the center of his bedroom, groaning to himself. Somehow, he felt more tired than he did before he’d started drinking the soda - sluggish, heavy slumber sneaking in on every corner of his body. Eyelids growing heavy, the teenager stole a sleepy blurred glance at his only companion - the clock on his bedside table.  
00:09. It was going to be a long, long night. 

At 00:30, three-and-a-half Monster Energy drinks down, Peter had his first pee of the evening. Heading to the bathroom, though it was only a short distance away, seemed like a mammoth task. His head, foggy with exhaustion, felt heavy and he was having trouble standing straight. He stumbled toward the toilet and managed to pee without closing his eyes. It wasn’t much, only a few little trickles, but he didn’t dare fall asleep and end up wetting his bed. Finishing up, Peter splashed his face with freezing water in an attempt to jolt himself into a more… awake sort of mood. He startled, eyes blowing open as the icy water dribbled down his pajama tee; forcing the hairs on the back of his neck to twist into thorny prickles. The temperature dip threw him into some sort of shock, giving his body enough adrenaline to dart back to his bedroom without crashing into an exhausted stupor. 

At 01:21, four and one quarter Monster Energy drinks down, Peter was on pee number two. It was as uneventful as the previous pee was; he splashed his face and returned to his blanket cocoon, watching Netflix in an attempt to stay awake. 

By 2:00, he was sure Steve, Tony and the rest of the Avengers had returned from their mission, although he was so tired he may have been imagining things. He had one can left. 

3:12; he had to pee again, a little heavier now. He dragged himself to the bathroom and peed with his eyes closed. It didn’t count as sleeping if he was still on his feet, right? He sighed lightly, and hoped that he wasn’t pissing full throttle on the toilet seat. 

4:41; the last can was gone, although Peter was so tired at this point that he wasn’t sure the energy drinks were working. He felt as though he had a bowling ball on his shoulders and was struggling to keep it up, forcing himself to snap his head upwards if he started slumping down and succumbing to the tiredness overtaking his body. 

5:44; Peter almost felt like he could cry a little bit. His eyes stung, it ached just to blink. His blinks in themselves grew longer and longer, his body was so desperate for sleep. He could hear the birds rousing one another as they chirped in the trees just outside his bedroom window. 

6:01, the sun was coming up and streaming in through his bedroom window as though it was mid morning on a bright summers day, so Peter couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to. He moaned to himself as the sunlight made his head pound ferociously, shattered from the lack of sleep. Peter dragged himself to the bathroom as if he was a dead man walking. He peed unsteadily, his body slanting any which way, seemingly just wanting to lay horizontal and rest. Standing at the sink took every fibre in his body to succeed, Peter’s legs were close to giving out. He daren’t glance at his reflection.  
How Peter got to his bedroom again he didn’t know - he just… appeared there, too tired to remember the journey.

8:29 and his teammates were rousing one another to get ready for the day ahead. Hearing the busy bubbling begin on the lower floors signalled to Peter that it was time for him to get up, too. But hey… he had managed a full, accident-less night…?  
Shifting in his bed, not even the sensation that it was dry could soothe him; it was a hollow victory as he… he just… he was so, so desperate to sleep. Since it was morning, could he… could he go back to bed now?

…He supposed it was only right he join his teammates. Settling on the sofa in the common room, Peter tried his hardest not to look too pissed off (or to fall asleep there and then) - a difficult task considering how irritable his fatigue was making him feel. He rubbed his eyes. 

Banner stepped through to the living room, pain au raisin and coffee in one hand, but the sight of the teenager slumped on the couch made him stop instantly. “Holy shit,” he murmured. Peter looked awful - worse than awful, even. His face was pale, white and drawn; his hair, usually neat, was wild and unbrushed in all directions. His eyes were decorated by purple rings and had bags underneath them, and he seemed to be trembling slightly. “Kid, you look like shit warmed up.” he said bluntly, biting his lip. “What happened, you sick?”

Peter shook his head quickly, sighing. Yeah, no shit he looked awful, he felt it too. He tried to keep his irritation on a minimum. “No Mr. Banner, I’m doing okay I promise.” He said. Banner recognised that Peter’s voice was rising, coming out all sharp and brittle, he knew what that signaled so he quickly shut up. Looking after a stroppy teenager wasn’t part of his contract. “Okay, okay,” he reassured, holding his hands up in the truce position, “I think Clint is in the kitchen if you’d like to grab some breakfast with him.” he assured. Peter didn’t respond - too tired to make his mouth form actual intelligible words, instead settling for a grunt of acknowledgment. Bruce left the room silently before he himself got worked up trying to reason with the kid, he had put up something of a cold front for some reason. 

Peter shuffled into the kitchen, head pounding. He saw Clint at the kitchen worktop, preparing what looked like an omelette. Clint saw the kid just outside of his peripherals and looked over, smiling affectionately. “Morning kiddo. What would you like for breakfast?” 

"D'no." Peter responded dully, tone a tad sharp. His head was pounding, and he felt too tired to eat - as though it was an effort to just move his mouth. Clint watched the boy carefully, and just by the archer's gentle widening in the eyes and raise of brow, Peter knew what was coming. "No, I'm NOT sick, I'm doing just fine." he snarled brattily when Clint opened his mouth. Stunned into silence, Clint closed his mouth again. 

"Jesus, kid, alright. Make your own breakfast." he raised his hands in the 'truce' position, turning back to his omelette. He couldn't really take Peter's bratty behaviour to heart though - he knew it from within his own family, so it was like water rolling off a duck's back when it came down to Peter. Plus, now that Clint had gotten a good look at the teenager - pasty faced eye bags and all - he had deduced that his unusually bratty behaviour was coming from over tiredness of some sort. Perhaps the kid had another.... issue in the twilight hours that he didn't want to talk about.  
Best not to bring it up.  
As the archer focused on his omelette - flipping it in the pan and checking to ensure the cheese was golden brown and bubbling just the way he liked it, Peter sluggishly dragged himself to the fridge. He shivered at the frigid blast that hit him square in the face but fought through it to lift out some cut fruit (mango and melon) and some natural yoghurt. Sat at the table, the teenager dipped the fruit slices into the yoghurt as though they were crudités - sucking the yoghurt off of each slice before nibbling at them. An atmosphere developed between the pair - not a frosty one, but one that was simply tranquil and tired, punctuated only by the teenager's nibbling and the occasional searing sizzle of Clint's cheese omelette. 

Peter looked around the room slowly, basking in the silence before the penny dropped. Where were Steve and Tony and the rest of the Avengers? Clint had promised they'd be back by this morning. Where.. where did they go? "Where are the rest of the team?" he asked, putting the last of a melon rind onto his plate. 

"Oh," Clint shrugged, slicing into his omelette casually. "They're still busy with the mission is all."

Peter frowned, finding he didn't quite like Clint's answer - it was too vague for his liking. Suddenly, Peter was beginning to understand the anxiety that Aunt May mentioned having if Peter ever stayed out past curfew; Clint's words were like a fuse that forced his heart to begin pounding and a tight band to grow in his chest. "But they should be back now." he frowned, fidgeting against the anxiety rising up like a tidal wave in his stomach. "They should've invited me with them. Why aren't I good enough?" He asked, a frosty tone streaming through to his voice.  
"Oh, you are good enough, kid, it's j-"  
"No! If I was good enough I'd BE with them right now!" Peter's voice rose steadily, an explosive crescendo. He was grumpy, of course, but his anger was anxiety fuelled judging by the shaky stilt of his voice.  
Clint placed down his knife and fork quietly. "I'm not out there right now, you saying I'm not good enough?" he questioned. Steely.  
"Who said this was about you!" Peter snapped. "I'm just saying I wanna go on missions too, I didn't come here just so you had someone to play with." His voice was bitter now, though there was a distinct 'toddler tantrum' air to it. "I deserve to be out there."  
"And I don't?" Clint reinforced, shaking his head. Still steely. “You’re still training, kid, it’d be irresponsible for any of us to send you up there. Besides - your skills weren't needed for this mission, spider boy. Neither were mine, nor Bruce’s. Shit happens. Suck it up."  
Clint's total disinterest seemed to only fan the flames in Peter's temper. "No!" he wailed, "It's not fair! I want to go out there! I deserve to be out there more than you do!" he spat. His pulse was pumping, the blood was roaring in his ears - every word that fell free from the constraints of his mouth was anxiety fuelled, to the point where he didn't quite connect with what he was saying. Were... were Steve and Tony dead?? Were they never going to come back here again? Did they not want to look after him after all? The rest of the team - did they not want him as an Avenger? All those thoughts swirled around and around in his head.

Clint closed his eyes slowly, trying to let the teenager's comment wash over him. He recognised it for what it was - a stupid childish comment in an even stupider, circular, childish argument. But still, it had hurt. There had been many a time where he had questioned his own position on the team so he both understood Peter's position and was hurt by what he had said. Sighing, he shook his head and stood, his own chair scraping the floor. "Y'know what kid, I give up. You need a time out or something." he laughed humourlessly.

Time out...?! Peter was absolutely outraged. "I'm not a child!" he snapped. 

"Well. Stop acting like one. Come back to me in fifteen minutes when you've calmed down some." Clint told him, no life in his voice as he set up the egg timer. It felt a bit odd to be disciplining someone of Peter's age - although he seemed as though he needed the time to calm himself.  
But... Christ, even his own kids never had time out this early.

The timer was set for fifteen minutes, and slowly began to tick.

Fifteen minutes. A minute for every year.

*

Peter watched the timer hatefully as it ticked around, his head lolling forward and resting on the table as thoughts raced in his head. Time out?! Clint had left him, an Avenger, aged fifteen - in _time out _?!__  
Okay... perhaps Clint was right... he shouldn't have been bratty... an uncomfortable concoction of shame and anxiety began to constrict him as he realised his mistake - a cold sensation that fell into his tummy instantly. He had told Clint that he didn't deserve to be an Avenger... he had told Clint he wanted to be out there instead of spending time with him and Bruce...  
But... but it was (almost!) true! He.. he did deserve to be out there with the others, right? Why didn't anybody think he was good enough?!  
The teenager spent fifteen minutes alternating between trying to calm himself down and getting worked up all too easily. By the time the egg timer started brrrrringing noisily a few feet away from him he was breathing heavily, tears tipping his lashes. He didn't MEAN to be so grumpy to Clint and Bruce.. he... he just felt so tired and anxious and stressed that... well, he had forgotten where he was. The sound of the timer, still obnoxiously beeping a minute later, finally alerted Clint that Peter had completed his time out. 

__"Hey, kiddo." Clint said emotionlessly, flicking off the timer. "Time out's over. I hope you did some thinking." His voice sounded colder than usual, devoid of all the warmth it usually held and it seemed as though he was making a conscious choice to keep his back to the teenager. Peter's eyes welled, but he blinked the wetness away, instead focusing on trying to speak without his voice quivering.  
"Clint I'm so sorry." he admitted in a small voice, as sincere as anything. He had a small... edge to his voice, as though he was on the verge of blubbing. Clint, who had overseen many time outs, knew that tone all too well; sighing, he turned to face the teenager. "Peter, it's fine." the archer answered honestly. The upside to throwing Peter in time out for fifteen minutes was that Clint himself had got some time to calm down too... and he realised that Peter's outburst, as hurtful as it was, was most likely just over tiredness. _ _

__"No it's not, I was rude and I-I.." Peter stammered unhappily, but quickly stumbled into silence when Clint waved his hand toward him._ _

__"Peter," he repeated quietly and firmly, "You're fine. I forgive you - but I think you're tired and need some more sleep." he explained._ _

__Peter sagged in defeat, rubbing his eyes. Slowly, he nodded. He was pretty tired. "Okay, Mr. Barton." he whispered. Barton smiled, and ushered him to the couch in the common room. On the way, Peter threw a murmured, ‘sorry!’ to Banner before puddling up on the couch._ _

__(He spent the next forty five minutes curled up under a blanket that Clint had expertly tucked him into - tossing, turning, twisting with no sign of his eyelids growing heavy with sleep. Clint had wandered off after getting the teenager settled, wanting to give him a moment of calm so he could settle down, but sighed as he saw the teenager in a state of overworked stress. “Not working, huh, kiddo?” He asked, kneeling to Peter’s level. Peter groaned in frustration, directed more toward himself than toward the archer. “No! Nothing’s working, and I just wanna sleep!” The young teen grumbled, sitting up and throwing off his blankets. Sighing softly, Clint rearranged Peter into his blankets as he thought it over. He pursed his lips and sympathetically shushed the teen when he began to whine grumpily. “I think I’ve got something that’ll help, Bub.”)_ _

__*_ _

__“What are you making?” Bruce murmured quietly to Clint. He was watching the archer move determinedly in the kitchen._ _

__“Milk and honey.” Clint replied back in a soft voice, pouring milk into a small water bottle with a spout. He drizzled honey and cinnamon in, and gave the bottle a shake before placing it in the microwave to heat for a minute or two. “He’s overtired.” The archer said plainly, “I always make this for my kids when they’re overtired and it knocks them straight out.”_ _

__Bruce peered into the microwave suspiciously, seeing the water bottle rotate. “Suspicious. Sure you didn’t, I dunno, spike it with benzos?” he snarked, grinning. Clint laughed too, shook his head. “No, no sleeping pills. It’s just comforting.” He shrugged._ _

__Bruce nodded. “Understandable. Why the waterbottle?”_ _

__Clint shrugged. “Means he can lie down and drink at the same time, more likely to fall asleep sooner.”  
At this answer, Bruce scoffed. “Good luck. I’ve already had my head bitten off asking him if he was alright.”_ _

__Clint chuckled again. “Believe me, I’ve had a scolding too. No, this stuff is magic. I think he’ll be okay.”_ _

__*_ _

__“Here, Peter.” Clint said raising his voice as he sat next to the teenager, holding the bottle out. Peter sat up slowly with a groan, rubbing his forehead and pulling his knotty hair out of his face. “What’s... what’s that?” He frowned, more than slightly suspicious at the waterbottle Clint was trying to give him._ _

__“Just something to help you sleep, kid.” Clint explained, passing the bottle to Peter spout-first. Peter leaned in, lips puckered, and took a small sip from the bottle. Warm. It was... warm, and sweet. He raised his eyebrows slightly at the sensation of the sweet creamy liquid on his tongue but swallowed all the same, smacking his lips to try and identify the flavour. “What even is that stuff?” He asked, confused._ _

__“Warm milk and honey. You like it?” The archer asked him with a pleased smile. Peter gave him a shy thin smile in return and nodded. “Tastes good.” He admitted. It had left him with a enchantingly warm feeling in the bottom of his tummy, and he really liked it._ _

__“Take it, then.” Clint shook the full waterbottle expectantly with a laugh. Peter ‘oh’ed shyly and reached out, clasping the bottle in his hands. He shyly broke gaze with Clint and shifted in his blanket cocoon, resuming his lying position. As Clint tucked him in just a smidgen tighter, Peter raised the nub of the waterbottle to his lips and sipped unsurely. It... it felt just a little weird. Wasn’t warm milk a drink for... babies? Did Clint think he was a baby - if he drank the milk... would that make him a baby too?  
But... it did taste pretty good. Peter closed his eyes as he lay there, occasionally sucking from the waterbottle. His suckling got sleepier and sleepier - the warmer and fuller his tummy got, the heavier his eyelids became. By the time the bottle was empty and Peter was instinctively sucking at it, he had drifted off into full sleep, snores rumbling from deep inside him. His lips parted to let out soft sleepy sighs, and the bottle fell from where it was hanging in his mouth. _ _

__“Wow.” Bruce commented, looking between Peter and Clint._ _

__“I told you,” Clint smiled smugly as he eased the bottle from where it lay in Peter’s blanket cocoon - making a mental reminder to wash it so Peter could have more if needed. He pushed the thin strands of hair from Peter’s face, watching for even the tiniest reaction, and his smug smile melted into a happy one. “Magic.”_ _

__Peter slept for a majority of the afternoon with little fuss. Clint knew by this point that he needed a little extra eye kept on him, so he made sure to settle in the armchair opposite the couch and watch TV, ‘oomph’ing softly as he settled. It wasn’t that he wanted to watch, oh no, he would much rather get up and practice his archery… but his archery could wait - Peter’s overactive bladder couldn’t, and Clint wasn’t up to the task of cleaning the couch AND consoling an unhappy child this afternoon.  
Just as Clint was getting into his sixth episode of How I Met Your Mother, his calling came. Peter had begun to whimper softly beneath the blankets. _ _

__“Peter?” Pausing the episode Clint looked over, raised his voice slightly in an attempt to rouse said child. Peter didn’t respond, only continuing to squirm and fight in his cocoon with a creased, unhappy grimace crossing his features. The milk had finally reached his bladder fully, and was pressing and pulsing uncomfortably in his lower abdomen, on the verge of moving down and, er, out. Caught up in his sleep there was little Peter could do; he squirmed, but the pain came with him. Subconsciously, he reached down to grab himself a little, sliding a hand between his legs and keeping it there. It was this movement that forced Clint to decide to wake the child himself; biting his lip, he stood before the sleeping child on the couch and nudged his shoulder hesitantly. “Peter, c’mon pal. Wakey wakey.”  
He nudged a few more times before Peter’s eyes sleepily opened. _Wha… wha.. why was Mr. Barton standing over him like that?__ _

__“Mr. Barton…” Peter began, looking puzzled - only for his eyes to blow wide open not seconds later. “Oh, oh Mr. Barton!” He gasped, anxiety flooding into his voice. He really, really had to pee — like he always did if he woke up dry. Which he had. Yay… although he hoped Mr. Barton wouldn’t keep him too long. “I- I..” He fidgeted in his blankets, blushing. “I’m dry! B- but.. I really have to go pee.”  
Mr. Barton chuckled. “I know, bud, that’s why I woke you. Go, quickly.” He encouraged. _ _

__Peter nodded, not wasting any time as he shuffled toward the closest bathroom. He made it just in time (okay, even if he did have to jump up and down a little bit when the bathroom was in his eyeline and his bladder went haywire) and returned with a sigh of bliss. “I made it, Mr. Barton.” He chirped.  
Then, after some shifting on his feet he added, “Thank you for waking me up, Mr. Barton.” His irritable tone from earlier had all but died out; the teen was feeling rather clear headed and mellow now that he’d had a good chunk of sleep._ _

__“No problem, buddy. Well done on keeping dry.” Clint chuckled, looking up from the television. “You can just veg out for a while, I think. Tony and Steve won’t be back yet.”_ _

__(Peter gleamed at the praise, then whined.)_ _

__“I think Bruce wants to have a little movie night this evening, why don’t you go talk to him? He’s in his room.” Clint directed gently. Thinking it over, Peter nodded and ran toward the direction of Bruce’s private quarters._ _

__"Mr. Banner, Clint said you were doing movie night!"_ _

__Banner, who had been quietly note writing at his desk, damn well nearly jumped out of his skin as the boy just seemed to... appear beside him. "Yes.." he slowly placed down his pen and turned to face Peter, "I was thinking of it, why?"_ _

__"I want to join you!" the boy was shifting on his feet now. Not in that, 'I need to pee' way that young children often did, but that 'I'm excited' way that young children often did. Good. "Mmm," Bruce seemed distracted. "I wasn't going to not invite you, you know." If he didn't invite the kid it'd be just him and Clint until the others returned, and while Bruce enjoyed Clint's company, he wasn't sure how awkward it'd be. Assuming the child was suitably appeased, he turned back toward his work and began to take down some notes again. It only took him a minute or two (and three lines) to realise that firstly, he wasn't really taking in the notes that he was writing down; and secondly, the child hadn't left his quarters and was idly peering at his walls and desk, occasionally offering an awed, 'Cool. You're, like, my favourite scientist, Mr. Banner. I like reading your papers.'_ _

___Bruce turned, a little uncomfortable - he preferred to be alone in his quarters - but smiled all the same. "Thanks, kid." It was rare he got compliments such as that, especially from kids, especially from kids Peter's age -- so despite himself, something warm swelled in his chest. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Hey, uh, why don't you go pick out a movie for later? They're just over there." he waved in the direction of his bookshelves, and it caught Peter's eye that there was indeed a DVD shelf too._  
Standing on his tiptoes, the teenager studied his collection.  
There wasn't much choice - a fair few horror films like Paranormal Activity, The Woman in Black and The Shining, some children's movies like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, E.T the Extra Terrestrial and Home Alone - and some movies that Peter was a little too young to care for; Kill Bill, Psycho, and Charlie's Angels. The teenager agonised over these choices for a long time. Although Mr. Banner and Mr. Barton would probably think he was too old to enjoy a kid's movie like Home Alone, that was the one he really, really wanted to choose. He was too scared of horror films and just knew they would give him bad dreams overnight - and everybody knows what bad dreams overnight leads to. But Mr. Banner and Mr. Barton wouldn't dare want to watch a children's movie with him, they would be bored. "Um, Mr. Banner, which one do you want to watch?"   
Banner shrugged - did this kid ever pick up on any cues - and pretended to think about it. "Dunno," he murmured, throwing an answer into the air just so the kid would keep schtum and leave him alone for a bit; for kids were not his forte and besides Clint seemed much better at this whole parenting thing, "Was thinking of watching The Woman In Black."  

__Pleased at finally having an answer Peter turned his gaze to where Woman in Black lay, wedged between Psycho and (bizarrely, Peter thought) The Wizard of Oz. He hesitantly, heart-sinkingly slowly, peeled the DVD from its resting place, as though the ghostly figure in the background of the cover was going to jump out and swoop toward him. It... had Harry Potter on the cover, though - well, not Harry Potter, but the actor - what was his name - Daniel Radcliffe. And, and.. he was nice, so, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad... right?  
Uncomfortably, Peter clutched the DVD to his chest. "Okay. We can watch this one, Mr. Banner." he said, trying to sound as cheerful and as excited and as optimistic as possible, although he more than likely sounded a little wary._ _

__“Are you sure you want to watch this one, kid?” Clint squinted at the DVD case unsurely, then back at Peter. Clint had sent Peter to Bruce’s quarters thinking he’d pick up Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, at least - not… this.  
A few hours had passed, and Peter was in his pyjamas - Thor ones this time, green with a picture of the demigod and the words, ‘THOR: GOD OF THUNDER’ printed across in glittery yellow writing. They were slightly too big for him - too long on the legs - they pooled on the floor slightly. He was also clutching the water bottle from earlier, freshly filled with milk and honey. He couldn’t have looked more like a young child if he’d tried, which made it all the more jarring that he’d chosen to watch… The Woman In Black?_ _

__Peter nodded insistently, and settled on the couch. Clint hid a grimace. “If you say so..”_ _

__They ended up sandwiched together, Clint on Peter’s right, Bruce on his left, Peter cuddled in the middle. Clint had swished a blanket over the three; claiming ‘he was cold’ (despite it being early summer) - Bruce and he shared a look as Peter sunk into the blanket obediently and began to toy with it, rubbing it between his fingers. As the movie began, Peter sunk deeper into the blankets, sucking occasionally at his water bottle. Perhaps if he snuggled down and focused on drinking his milk and honey, he could ignore the film..?_ _

__No. Peter couldn’t resist it. He peeked. Harry Potter - or whoever it was - was wandering around a creepy looking house. It wasn’t too bad, actually - your usual cliche ‘creaky old house’ stuff. Still, Peter shivered as he looked around. Perhaps the Tower was haunted...? Brr.  
He turned his attention quickly back to the television. “Who’s that?” _ _

__Clint chuckled, ruffling the teenager’s hair fondly. “Watch it and see, sport.”_ _

__Peter watched. He found out that Harry Potter was not actually Harry Potter, but a man called Arthur Kipps, and the house was haunted. It didn’t seem too bad — and he had to be brave for Mr. Banner and Mr. Barton — so, interspersed by sucks of his waterbottle Peter watched intently. He was fine... this wasn’t so bad.. he was doing okay— this was easy!_ _

__Until the Woman swept up into the screen as a scare chord blared out, before drowning a child in the marsh to harrowing screams. While Bruce and Clint jumped and ‘oh’ed with shock Peter absolutely jolted, eyes widening. His chest tightened and he felt his eyes growing wet with fat babyish tears. He started to breathe heavily, desperate for his tears not to fall and for his breathing to steer itself under control. He wasn’t a baby... he wasn’t a baby, he could do this... the (slightly depraved) mantra rolled over and over in his head; he could feel the words, ‘I don’t like it, turn it off!’ turning sour on the tip of his tongue. Peter got so, so close to saying it, but his mantra pulled the words back. He couldn’t ask them to turn it off at the first jumpscare, they would completely ridicule him!  
Aside, Bruce patted his head. Even this movement, as sweet and as non-threatening as it was, made Peter tremble - fear already overtaking. He snapped his head toward Bruce, a panic stricken look lining his features. _ _

__“You’re okay,” Bruce cooed gently; what he hoped was an antidote to the boy’s evident fear. “We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to watch it.”_ _

__“No!” Peter barked unnaturally loud and much too quickly for it to be any semblance of genuine. “No, I’ll be fine. We can watch.”  
Determined, he turned his head back to the television. Bruce gave him an unsure look, then shrugged at Clint. They had one of those annoying eye-conversations where they somehow understood one another, yet nobody else did; the kind that Peter hated. Even so, the teenager kept his eyes glued to the screen. His gaze remained unbroken for a solid seven minutes (not that Clint was counting, or anything...) until he was treated to a series of jumpscares involving a wind up toy, a doll, and some self immolation by which point the teenager had devolved into a trembling pile under his blanket, sobs edging out of his mouth - his thumb on the verge of going to his mouth, too. Clint opened a flap on the blanket and sighed pityingly. “Kid, you don’t need to watch this movie if you don’t want to.” He affirmed. Peter didn’t say anything as he continued to cry, blinking at Clint in shame. The elder man sighed, pulling the boy further into his lap and tugging the blanket neatly over him. “Lie here and just drink your milk.” He instructed firmly. Peter obediently started to suck at the water bottle and closed his eyes, nestling into the blanket. He watched the screen through slanted eyes before - still so exhausted from going, ‘on strike’, his body gave in and he succumbed to sleep._ _

__“Well,” Bruce looked down at Peter’s legs dangling ungainly from his lap once the teen’s breathing had evened out to that tell-tale deepness, “he managed thirty three minutes. Longer than I expected.”Clint nodded in agreement, studying the child before turning back to the television. “I knew we should’ve watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”_ _

__The two watched the movie in a comfortable silence even with a sleeping child sharing their laps. It became… rather enjoyable. Neither man was particularly frightened, and enjoyed one another’s company silently.  
Yes, it made bathroom breaks a little awkward, although the duo became accustomed to whenever the other began to shift uncomfortably and took charge of Peter to let him up. Peter stayed mostly asleep throughout the commotion despite the horror movie continuing on television; partly due to Clint’s talent in swaddling the child close if he dared do so much as whimper. Peter even slept through his beloved Tony and Steve crashing through the door that evening. Mind you, neither Clint nor Bruce looked over when their colleagues entered, either. It was such a regular occurrence for someone to come crashing into the Tower at some inhumane hour that it wasn’t even worth lifting a head for. _ _

__“We interrupting you?” the sarky tone of one Tony Stark flooded into the room. Bruce looked down at Peter who was curled up sharing their lap, then up at the posse of superheroes that had just appeared in the common room of the Tower. Bruce shifted away from Peter, feeling the boy curl up tighter into the couch. “…No. What the hell happened to you guys?”“Small group of government-run gone-rogue drones attacking downtown,” Tony explained although his eyes were trained on Peter rather than Bruce. He could see that the boy, asleep, had begun to fidget lightly in his spot on the couch and concern had flooded every nerve in his body. He stepped forward to get a closer look at the young boy, his Iron-Man suit seamlessly coming away from his body at the same time._ _

__“They got intercepted,” Steve explained, taking over from Tony as he was preoccupied with Peter, “Someone was focused on taking money from the downtown bank, used the drones to try it out. We defeated them, but the helicarrier got intercepted on our return. Some kinda revenge thing.” He shrugged. Bruce grimaced, and Clint did too.  
“Jesus.” the archer said._ _

__“Hopefully that was the last of them.” Tony murmured with a frown as he nudged Peter, trying to lift him into his arms without waking him. “Also, which one of you geniuses chose The Woman In Black for movie night with the little dude?” He scoffed. Both Bruce and Clint instantly blamed one another, with Bruce finally protesting that ‘it was the kid’s idea in the first place’. Which was entirely valid of course, but come on. Tony was… was, well, the worst example of a parent ever and even he knew to not listen to a kid when they say they want to watch the scary movie. “Fine,” the genius said, “But if he wakes up with nightmares tonight, one of you is going to visit him.”  
Unbeknownst to Tony, though, Peter was already in the midst of a bad dream. The Woman from the dream, she was… she was trying to kidnap him! Her long leathery arms slithered around Peter - though in actuality they were the strong comforting arms of Tony Stark. Peter’s eyes snapped open although he remained locked in his dream, and he began screaming, fear splintering his voice. He watched as Tony’s face grotesquely twisted and transformed into the creepy ghoul from the movie, all pallid-faced and soulless eyes. Peter’s screaming grew more and more frantic, his throat raked to raw shreds, his eyes glinting with fear induced tears but somehow not able to make eyecontact. He clawed at Tony in a desperate attempt to get out of the dream. Distantly he could hear Tony’s voice - a frantic ‘Shit. Kiddo, shhh, it’s me, it’s Tony’, and similar bubbles from his friends, although they were quick to melt into white noise and so couldn’t comfort the boy. Peter was also vaguely aware of a pressure in his bladder, although he couldn’t quite grasp it. It faded away before he was able to squeeze his legs… replaced rapidly by a warmly spreading wetness and the sound of something sprinkling against something else. This produced another frantic, ‘Oh shit’ from Tony - and similar murmurings from his friends. _ _

___At a loss of what to do, Tony waited until Peter had finished peeing and collapsed back down onto the sofa, careless that both he and Peter were soaked through, that the rest of the team was either in a state of wide eyed awkward shock or had quietly scarpered or that there was a sizeable puddle on the common room floor (though Clint jumped up to clean that one.)  
“Ssh..” He murmured, holding the teenager awkwardly, a hand tousling the back of his hair. They rocked slowly together. Tony wasn’t quite sure where all of this was coming from - he was almost sure he was doing this on autopilot - but a vague memory of Jarvis doing this to him long ago bubbled under the surface. “Ssh. You’re okay kiddo, you’re fine.”  
As much as Peter needed to change, it was pointless trying to rouse him to clean up when he was in this hysterical state. It took a while (about ten minutes of solid rocking and shushing) but Peter finally began to ‘come to’, squirming as he tried to work out his surroundings. His first heart sinking realisation was that he was soaked through. The second, equally heart-sinking realisation was that he was warm and wet… which led to the third heart-sinking realisation that he must’ve wet the bed._

__Except the bed was… breathing._ _

__And talking to him._ _

__And… sounded awfully… like…?_ _

__“Mr. Stark?” Peter rasped, sounding much like a mewling kitten. He clawed at the man again, softer this time, as he tried to get a grip on his surroundings. Tower. Mr. Stark. Home._ _

___“The one and only,” Stark said, almost immediately causing Peter’s heart to soar happily. The teenager was so happy to see his mentor back - and his mentor him, judging by the tone of his voice - that he almost lost the grip on his surroundings all over again - and forgot what he’d just done. An expression of pure bliss was frozen on the teenager’s face for a good thirty seconds before it slid off and was replaced by a frown. “But… but I—I..” He said in a low, quivering voice as the realisation dawned on him. Trailing off, he found he wasn’t able to finish his sentence before his cheeks burned with shame.  
Tony did it for him.  
“I know,” Tony explained in a voice that was unusually tender, keeping a secure grip on the boy. “You’re fine, gonna get you cleaned up and into bed. Think you’ve had too many scares for one night, Scrappy Doo.” He eyed Clint, who had been busy in the background cleaning up the puddle that had been left behind. In all the commotion he had been able to prepare something else; he held the water bottle toward Stark expectantly._

___Tony looked from Clint to the item he was holding in his hand. It was a… water bottle, a water bottle with blue grips on each side, a spout in the shape of a straw, and a faded looking FDNY logo. And… it was full of… milk?  
He looked back toward Clint and, despite not saying anything, the archer seemed to gather what he was talking about; namely… what the hell?  
‘For Peter,’ Clint mouthed, ‘Milk and honey. He likes it.’_

__Tony wrinkled his nose, but nodded all the same and took the beaker. He stood with Peter, cradled him (it seemed pointless placing him down and making a bigger mess) and began the trek to the teenager’s bedroom. All the while, Peter was silent with shame, almost on autopilot as he let Tony take him to the bathroom and pass him fresh pajamas. Once dressed, he shuffled in silence to his bedroom.  
Tony ghosted behind him with the waterbottle; awkwardly helping him get tucked into bed. “Here, kid.” Tony said, as he watched Peter melt back into his bedsheets. He held out the waterbottle. “Clint says you like it.”_ _

___Peter nodded, a little shyly, as he began to suck the nub of the beaker and settled. He felt sleepiness wash over him but fought it for a moment, replaying his little argument with Mr. Barton over and over in his head. Now that it was long past over, shame brewed inside him whenever he thought too hard about it. Did Mr. Barton not tell Mr. Stark what had happened? Mr. Stark hadn’t even shouted at him._  
“Mr. Stark..?” Peter asked hesitantly, trying to decide with himself what he was going to ask the man.  
Stark had not moved from his position where he was crouched down at the teen’s bedside, level with him. “Mmm?” He asked.  
“When can I go on missions with you?” 

__Stark thought about it, lip curling as he did so. “Soon, kid.” He decided, “When we feel like you’re ready.”  
It was the same non answer that Barton had given Peter earlier that day, and Peter couldn’t help but whimper at the sour sting of unhappiness that needled into him; but he knew better than to bite back to Mr. Stark like he had Barton. He settled in silence again, the air punctuated only by the noise of him sucking at the water bottle every now and then. Tony stayed with him for a little while longer. He didn’t comfort him, but he stayed - his presence was comfort enough for Peter. When Tony saw Peter’s eyelids begin to flicker with sleepiness he took that as his cue to leave —_ _

__“Mr. Stark? Tell me about the mission t’day..”_ _

__— but the teenager had a magical way of keeping him right where he wanted. Pausing, Stark resumed his position at Peter’s bedside._ _

__He collected his thoughts with a clear of his throat, and began to softly talk._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very appreciated. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing and re-reading it for you guys. 
> 
> xx


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